


An Anchor For My Soul

by JuliaRose12



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Comfort, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-25
Updated: 2016-06-25
Packaged: 2018-07-18 02:34:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7296067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuliaRose12/pseuds/JuliaRose12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's something ironic, Noah thinks, about being controlled even in death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Anchor For My Soul

**Author's Note:**

> Some Ronan/Noah fluffy angst because there is not enough Ronan/Noah in this world.
> 
> dedicated to my dearest Ali, my Ronan/Noah buddy from day one.
> 
> This is the first piece of writing that I've posted, so any feedback would be much appreciated :)

There's something ironic, Noah thinks, about being controlled even in death. The ley lines decide when he stays and when he goes. But he is dead, isn't he? Why should he have any control?

 

Sometimes, he thinks, control would be nice. He wouldn't have to worry about flickering away from Blue or Gansey when they needed him, or leaving Adam in an empty room, staring at the place where Noah had been only seconds before.

 

If he had control, he would never have to worry about Ronan.

 

_Ronan_.

 

Ronan, who pretends that Noah’s disappearances roll off of his shoulders the same way that passing comments from Declan do. Ronan, who, lately, hasn’t been able to stop his hands from shaking every time Noah loses his grip on the world of the living.

 

The more Noah thinks about the energy that keeps him corporeal, about the worry that plagues his friends each time he disappears, the more he longs for a solution, for some way to stay with them on his own terms.

 

\-------------------------------------

 

There is one night where, for a few moments, Noah feels real. He is sitting across from Ronan, one half of a pair of earbuds in his ear as they listen to music. It’s Noah’s music, the Blink-182 album that still sits in the disc slot in his car in Cabeswater. For a dead person, there’s quite a bit of warmth that spreads through his chest when Ronan smiles at him.

 

He feels alive. Until he doesn’t.

 

The lines surge, and suddenly nothing at all is right. The blanket that had been sitting over his legs slides through him and onto the bed, and he finds himself struggling to do whatever it is that he normally does in place of breathing. He lets out a small gasp, and Ronan’s fingers desperately wrap around his wrist.

 

Ronan’s arm trembles, the unsteadiness prevailing over the numbness that spreads through his hand upon contact with Noah. He meets the dead boy’s wide, terrified eyes, and Noah sees the same look reflected back at him.

 

“Please, don’t go.”

 

“I wish I didn’t have to,” Noah manages in a soft whisper before he is gone, before the beer bottle on Ronan’s nightstand smashes against the wall and Chainsaw flaps out of the room in alarm.

 

\-------------------------------------

 

Noah drifts through time and consciousness, and Ronan’s nightmares run rampant.

 

Noah experiences bits and pieces of his life. Sometimes there is nothing but blackness, but sometimes there is Adele’s soft smile, or the smell of his mother’s cooking, or the crunch of the leaves as Whelk trails behind him in the moonlight of Cabeswater. Then there is the skateboard, _his_ skateboard, and the blood, and his own ragged gasps filling his dead ears. Then there is more blackness.

 

Ronan’s nightmares are no different. He wakes with bits of white-blonde hair slicked with blood stuck to his palm and between his fingers. He scrubs his hands until his knees finally give out. Crying in the bathroom is easier anyway.

 

When Noah is able to focus, he focuses on Ronan. It’s small details. Ronan’s curved smile that appears only when he watches Noah feed Chainsaw. The alluring way the muscles in his forearms move beneath his skin as he grips the steering wheel of the BMW and prepares for a midnight race. His silhouette in the moonlight, a portrait of power and glory and every single wild and untamable thing that Noah loves about him.

 

Noah focuses on Ronan until he blinks and Ronan is standing in front of him, until he realizes that his feet are on solid ground and that he is standing in the middle of Monmouth.

 

The feeling of being real overwhelms him as Ronan’s arms engulf him and his erratic heartbeat thumps against Noah’s ear.

 

“I’m here,” Noah whispers, his cold breath burning against Ronan’s chest.

 

“I’m glad,” Ronan mumbles into Noah’s hair, and he swears that he would stand here until the end of time if it meant that Noah could stay.

 

\-------------------------------------

 

The next time the lines threaten to drag Noah away, he tangles his fingers with Ronan’s and focuses. He draws Ronan’s tattoo in his head, the black lines that snake across Ronan’s tanned skin drawing him further away from oblivion. He traces a trembling finger across Ronan’s arm, and memorizes the way his muscles move as his grip on Noah’s hand tightens. He rests his head against Ronan’s chest, absorbing the soft vibrations that resonate through him as Ronan’s calming voice fills the room.

 

The energy of the line still wavers, but Noah does not struggle to breathe or notice his hands becoming more and more translucent.

 

Noah’s world lurches around him, but he glances up at Ronan and finds himself anchored, to both the universe and to the boy in front of him.

 

This time, he stays.

 


End file.
